Taylor answered my question, he delivered himself of a
comprehensive anathema which included Miss Blake, River Hall, the late
owner, and ourselves. He further wished he might be essentially
etceteraed if he believed there was another solicitor, besides Mr.
Craven, in London who would allow such a hag to haunt his offices.
"Talk about River Hall being haunted," he finished; "it is we who are
witch-ridden, I call it, by that old Irishwoman. She ought to be burnt
at Smithfield. I'd be at the expense of the faggots!"
"What have you and Miss Blake quarrelled about?" I inquired. "You say
she is a witch, and she has made me take a solemn oath never to mention
your name again in her presence."
"I'd keep her presence out of these offices, if I was Mr. Craven," he
answered. "She has cost us more than the whole freehold of River Hall
is worth."
Something in his manner, more than in his words, made me comprehend that
Miss Blake had borrowed money from him, and not repaid it, so I did not
press for further explanation, but only asked him once again what I
ought to do about calling upon Colonel Morris.
"Call, and be hanged, if you like!" was the reply; and as Mr. Taylor was
not usually a man given to violent language, I understood that Miss
Blake's name acted upon his temper with the same magical effect as a red
rag does upon that of a turkey-cock.
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